Hot Dark Love – Work Date
The following is an excerpt from a larger story I'm working on; it's seen only rough edits for readability and represents a good 1st draft. I wanted a romance between a superhero and a supervillain, though those exact terms don't appear in the story due to murky legal rights to those words. Instead, enjoy magic, powers, teamwork, witty dialogue, and flirting._
“Pulse, Riot, Moon. Go get these folks to safety.” The tall broad man in the white and red outfit explained. Fire ensconced his head. It and his short fade haircut gave him the distinct look of a very brawny matchstick. Tension colored his voice, and he bounced in a boxer's stance: knees bent and fists ready. “I'll deal with her.”
10 feet behind him, the athletic woman working as the hero Pulsar felt her jaw tighten immediately. Heatstroke was treating them like kids again, like sidekicks instead of apprentices. The Korean American college student felt the cold air around her hands and felt, rather than saw, the swirling orbs of blue-white plasma growing in either palm. She fired a ray at the nearest shadow monster, obliterating it and leaving an ugly burn mark on the wall behind it. Pulsar saw it and gasped, then shook her wrists to dissipate her powers. Her aunt preached nothing so much as she preached perfect and unwavering control of the powers she and her niece shared, and Pulsar had let hers get away from her if only for a moment. She wiped her half-gloved hands on her sporty white and blue outfit as if she could literally wipe away her guilt.
“Heatstroke, we can help.” We can take her down together and...”
“Yeah, you can.” He interrupted her, punching clean through a shadow beast as it leapt at a terrified businessman. The summoned shade disappeared in a flash of light and heat and Heatstroke didn't turn around when he addressed the teen trio behind him. “But right now you three are gonna turn around and make sure those innocent bystanders live to see another day. You're gonna do a damn good job keeping them safe. Understand? “
“This is some 'ol bullshit...” muttered the tall black youth known as The Running Riot. “You a lame for this one, Heatstroke. I thought Kinetic Solutions were about busting heads and hitting villains.” He punched his palm and shook his head. When the young man joined the Hero Apprentice program, he'd imagined a life of fighting villains and making public appearances. When he discovered that he and his close friend Pulsar had been assigned to the first ever apprentice class for the Kindred Souls, he knew he'd be doing a lot more punching than waving, more fighting than saving, and that suited him fine.
The college sophomore's legs were already churning, generating the kinetic energy that fueled his powers. His work gear consisted of little more than a skintight athletic shirt underneath a tactical vest, baggy shorts, and high-top basketball shoes, each in coordinated red, yellow, and black. He hadn't wanted to look like a traditional hero. As far as Riot was concerned a non-costume costume fit the image of a superhero SWAT team better than spandex ever could.
Riot wanted to fight, but he knew better. Instead, he trudged, then ran, then sprinted, a blur that splattered a hulking black monster before he skidded to a stop a few meters from the two dozen scared office workers. He'd get back at the Kindred Souls team leader somehow, but that could wait. “Hey folks, you're gonna be ok...” He promised, standing between them and the bus sized hole in the wall of their second story office. The handsome young man ushered them with exaggerated gestures, walking beside them at the pace of their slowest member.
“Riot, look out!”
The young Black hero looked up, just in time to see a black crescent hurtling toward him, its edges obscured by the room's dim light. He swore aloud as it hurtled toward him and he recognized the trap he'd walked into: Escorting civilians means walking at their pace, slow and uncertain. Sticking with the group prohibited the bullish brawler from dashing, jumping, fighting, from all of the motions he used to generate the kinetic energy that fueled his strength and speed and invulnerability. He was stuck at first gear with rapidly dwindling energy. The best he could do was raise his arms and angle his body away from the civilians. The wave of magic did the rest, colliding full on with him and knocking him through the air with enough force to produce a sickening thud when his broad, athletic body hit the wall behind him. Riot slumped to the ground groaning and immobile. His mentor whipped around to face the witch responsible.
“You didn't think I was gonna make it that easy for you, did you?” The spellcaster said, her voice low and sardonic. “Don't forget that this is your fault, Heatstroke. I'm here 'cause you can't stay out of my business. It's super fucking rude.” She levitated near the center of the room, just high enough that her long black boots never touched the ground. Office furniture and overturned cubicles littered the ground and broken computers sparked at random intervals around them as the two opposing sides stood around the chaos. The short, plump witch's long black and purple braids and wide brimmed conical hat obscured her face but her flowing purple cloak over a short black and purple dress left no doubt as to her identity.
“Demise. And here I was wondering if your temporary absence meant you'd given up your life of crime.”
“Kiss my whole ass, Heat.” She snarled. “Don't forget that all of this is your fault. Every head that rolls today is on you.” Her arms and fingers remained in constant motion, and he could hear murmuring even when she wasn't speaking. She was casting something, even when it wasn't apparent, and the solar powered hero intended on stopping her at all costs. “I reach for the Moon Stone, you're there to stop me. I reach for the Destiny Shard, and you're there to stop me. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were obsessed.” She grunted her disgust. “So, I'm here to take something valuable from you.”
“Like hell you are!” A young tan woman in formal black garb yelled from behind her mentor, and the dark smoke rising from the chest of each civilian left no doubt who'd spoken. Heatstroke had become all too aware of Moon's fear-based powers and the reformed villainess’ struggle to harness her powers for good. Heatstroke heard her footsteps behind him, fast and heavy, and moved to block her path. He turned halfway towards her: first to confirm that she'd used that harvested fear to generate the shadowy wings and long scythe that were her standard armaments in any conflict, but more so to stare her in the eyes when he said the thing she didn't want to hear.
“Walls, not weapons. This isn't your fight, Moon.”
The disgust that contorted her light brown face was clearer than any answer she could have given him.
“So you don't trust me? Wh-what the hell? I can help! I can do this!” The 19-year-old said, clutching her manifested weapon tightly. Her short curvy frame nearly vibrated with agitation. “I thought you were different,” the third of his apprentice heroes lamented. “I thought you believed in me...”
“I am different, Moon.” Heatstroke explained without looking at the young ex-villain he'd been assigned to mentor. “Cause I give a fuck about keeping you safe, not just useful and loyal.” He turned towards the two junior heroes who weren't splayed out on the ground and gestured towards their teammate and the people he'd asked them to escort. “New mission: Get those people to safety. Get Riot back on his feet. Got it? We'll catch up later.”
He could hear contempt in the way the short young woman muttered, “Sure you are.” He knew he'd pay for that command later. But the solid black wall that popped into existence a moment later reassured him that at least Pulsar and Moon were willing to trust him this much.
His trio of surly young heroes groaned and grimaced but didn't disobey, gradually turning their powers and efforts towards carving a safe path out of the building, back and away from the murky black mist that had followed Demise into the crowded office.
“Leave? So soon? I think not.” The witch cackled. “I'm very proud of this miasma and I'd hate for all my effort to go to waste. Do you know how long it takes to generate enough to swallow a building whole?” The leader of the Kindred Souls hero squad watched her adjust her thick glasses and laugh at her own joke. “In fact? I'm so proud of it that I want you all to have a taste.” She flung another black arc of sharpened magic, this time at Pulsar. The teen team's self-proclaimed leader matched her strength against Demise's, putting her hands together to generate a plasma blast large enough to collide with the witches. The two blasts pressed against each other and exploded together, leaving either shooter unharmed. The East Asian teen pumped her fist, impressed by her own prowess: the effort of generating that much plasma that fast had nearly exhausted her, but she'd done it. She'd matched a real villain blow for blow.
Then she saw the second and third crescent slashes following in the wake of the one she'd spent her entire reserves canceling out.
so much for matching a fully grown villain
She braced herself, but the pain never came.
Instead, Pulsar opened her eyes to find her mentor standing between her and the lethal witch. Heatstroke glowed with searing heat; arms crossed in front of him. What had felt to the young woman like impending doom was just another attack for her mentor to block. Pulsar caught her breath, suddenly aware of the gap between them.
“You're awfully chatty today, Demi. Is that how you hide how weak you've gotten? I thi-”
“Oh, I'm gonna have fuuuuun showing you who's the weak one. You'll be begging for mercy when I'm done with you, Heat.” Waves of dark purple magic poured off of her and she rested her hand on her heavy bust. “But first? Abby, Ep: those kids look lonely. Why don't you go keep them company?”
The voluptuous witch gestured dismissively at the trio of young heroes shepherding the terrified office workers. Heatstroke leapt between the haughty villain and his junior heroes, but the bespectacled spellcaster didn't move. Instead, the professional hero caught a glimpse of rainbow streaking past him. It followed his trainees and the civilians, and he reflexively threw a sunbolt at it. The ray of solar energy pierced the hazy rainbow and a girl fell out of it, shrieking as she landed face first on the office carpet and skidded to a stop. She wore a frilly, bright pink dress and had pulled her hair up into pigtails. The new teen groaned as she lay there on the floor.
“Fucking motherfucking shit!” She swore, rubbing her face, before she scrambled to her feet. She held a large pink wand and looked like she'd spent a lot of time on her now smeared makeup and ripped outfit. “I mean, I am the shimmer of selfishness. The princess of punishment. The-”
A raven cawed loud enough to interrupt her, and Heatstroke wondered where the tombstone it stood upon had come from. The bird exploded in a cloud of feathers and a moment later a teen with black clothing and shaggy white hair sat on the stone. His thin black hoodie revealed dark circles around his eyes and its frayed edges ended high enough to reveal his pale, gaunt abdomen. Black-painted nails peeked out from his sleeves. “Shut it, Abby.”
“Fuck you... Epitaph!” The pink haired girl screamed. “Not this shit again.” She gestured wildly at him, and her magical staff trailed a precession of bubbles with each swing. “I don't interrupt your edgy emo dead-boy bullshit. Don't interrupt me! Now... where was I?” She turned back to where her targets had once stood. “Oh, that's right! I'm Abby Kadabra! Magical Menace! Purveyor of pain and panic! The-”
“They're getting away!” Her white-haired companion interrupted her again, now flanked by two rotting zombies as he sprinted towards the stairs. The two of them looked like they could have been classmates with his mentees.
The two new arrivals had come too late, too slow, and at too narrow an angle to keep his kids from shepherding the terrified office workers down the stairs to the first floor, but he could do nothing about their pursuit of his team. At least Riot was up and moving again. He wondered if Demise's mentees were as disorganized as they looked.
The storm of activity left only him and the villain he knew all too well. The 31-year-old hero circled her like a predator, sizing her up, observing what she could use in the room and what she might try and use to trap him. She'd announced her intention to take something from him, but he hadn't determined what, let alone how she could have known that he'd be the one sent to stop her.
“Taken an apprentice? Look at you, Demi. I’m proud. Does this mean you’re ready to be a mom?” He mocked the notoriously antisocial villain.
“I'd rather eat my own hair, bright bitch” She shivered at the thought of motherhood. Her thick braids bounced and jangled as the thin metal bands interspersed throughout her hair collided with each other. “But they're more... useful than most: if either of them survives I think they'll be worth something one day. Maybe even someone I’ll be proud to have trained.”
Heatstroke couldn't conceal his amusement. “Wait, don't tell me you went out and found some apprentices because you heard that I had some. I mean... come on. That's petty, even for you?”
“This isn't about me! I'm more interested in you, Heatstroke, and the way you sent those kids away so you could make your desperate last stand. Do those kids know you're not coming home? That you're gonna sacrifice yourself here to buy them a few minutes?” A flourish of her wrist sent a column of inky black stalagmites racing toward him, before the solar-powered hero dodged and punched his way free and clear. Demise floated inches above the floor but kept the brawny fighter at a safe distance, away from Heatstroke and his glowing hands. His strength, speed, and durability were well known amongst the powered community, and role as the unofficial leader and spokesperson for the city's premier team of violent heroes was well deserved. Up until their recent focus-tested rebrand, the Kindred Souls had been the Kinetic Solution, a name much more fitting for a squad of heroes who reliably answered “Yes” when “Violence?” was the question. Without fail, each member was dangerous in a fight, no matter what name the group bore. The five current members, when united, were nothing short of a force of nature.
“Desperate last stand?” His brows furrowed. “You've got me fucked up. Demi. I sent those kids away 'cause they'd have an even harder time listening to me if they saw what I was about to do to you...”
The witch's eyes opened wide, obscured even as they were by her glasses and long messy hair. “Ohhh? To me?” She gestured, placing her hand on her impressive bust. “Someone's feeling bold today. I hope you keep that energy, hero! I want to hear you defy me right until you beg for mercy. You look so cute when you whimper.”
She mumbled something dark and foreboding and a simple gesture called two inky black titans from the dark fog that trailed her. The monsters each took a moment to identify her, then him, and then charged at him from across the room. Their heavy steps thudded as they roared at him, hands outstretched and dripping globs of arcane magic. Heatstroke put his hands up like a boxer and avoided the first's grasp, doubling it over with a one mighty blow before two more punches from his glowing hands evaporated it. The second monster slammed into him, and he skidded across the ground, rolling over and leaping up to his feet before the monster leapt onto him. The two combatants strafed and circled for a moment until Heatstroke leapt at it with a burst of red orange light and knocked its head from its shoulders with a single solar-powered punch.
“Come and get some, Demise. I know you miss feeling these hands. Do you get lonely thinking about me?” He bit his lip and flashed a smug grin, stroking his short black beard and mustache.
“Oh, so we're just making shit up now, huh? Just imagining things?”
The room stood empty aside from Heatstroke and Demise now, silent except for the eerie sound of her mumbled chants and his heavy breaths. The object of her ire grinned, sweat beading on his brown forehead. His red and white sleeveless costume stretched across his broad chest with each breath. His round shoulders, broad back, and thick, toned thighs marked him as a brawler, not an acrobat. The solar powers he'd inherited from his estranged father allowed him limited flight and projectiles, but he'd been a brawler since his heroic debut. Thick and musclebound as he was, he was still somehow stronger than he looked.
“You want attention, Demise. I get it. I sent the kids away. Now you're all mine.” He dashed toward her with the same frightening speed he'd used while dispatching her summoned shadows. She swung a black tentacle at him; he leapt, hanging in the air a moment before dashing back down to the ground to avoid her next swing.
The villainess erected a wall between them and hurled a volley of black energy over it like a mortar. Her hardened magical wall shattered a moment of silence, and she fought the urge to shriek as she spun away from the fragments and the man who'd produced them. He leapt at her and she caught him around the leg with a tendril of magic, slamming him against the wall before it flung him away. He got up laughing to her absolute annoyance.
“Nice one! That's a new sequence. Someone's been hitting the gym. Or the books? What do you hit?” Heatstroke teased, sweat dripping down his face and onto his sleeveless, skintight costume. Demise couldn't help but notice the way it accentuated his broad shoulders and tapered waist, or the way his suit hugged his thick, rippling thighs. His tree trunk legs and tight ass suggested that he could generate a lot of power. She'd felt just how much on more than one occasion.
“I hit you, jackass!” She pulled her hat low to hide her face and regain her composure. Dark purple sigils appeared in the air in front of her, fanning out to cover a broad arc.
Her nemesis approached more cautiously this time, dodging and blocking her spells as he stubbornly closed the distance between them. Demise had a dozen different methods to keep him at bay. The problem lay in keeping him there. His arms, glowing with energy, might as well be a shield. Or a hammer.
They danced to and fro until Demise miscalculated the range between them. Heatstroke's 3 vicious punches sent her skipping over overturned cubicle walls and broken desks like a stone on a lake until she crashed into a pile of equipment huddled in a corner of the building. She clutched her soft, ailing stomach, rolled over, spat up something dark, and pushed up to her feet. Nothing felt broken, but this brash hero's range was a lesson she didn't want to learn again.
“Fucking gorilla. You wanna brawl? Ok, I've got something for your ass this time.” She swore, still feeling the effects of his fists. It was no wonder this brawler had made such quick work of her summons. His strength was unreal. “Cocky motherfucker. Say hello to my little friend!” She drew a sigil in the air and expanded her hands as he approached, growing the sigil until its edges touched the floor and the ceiling. Heatstroke recognized the danger sprinted towards her until a colossal, skeletal dragon poked its head through the sigil, roaring a challenge that shook the room. It pushed halfway into the room, opening its mouth to spew caustic purple miasma in a broad cone that quickly enveloped the sun-powered hero. Spires of shadows stabbed at Heatstroke from every angle, and a final flurry exploded the very shadow at his feet, throwing him through rows of desks and cubicles, purple haze trailing him like the tail of a comet.
She followed him with the confidence of a woman who'd already triumphed, floating towards him with an imperious snarl.
The rubble shifted and then launched, and Demise covered her face with a glassy sheet of black magic. Against all odds he'd survived her onslaught.
“Motherfucker? Shit... have I fucked any moms?” He asked aloud, staggering to his feet. “I probably have... wait. Shit; are you pregnant? Are we having a kid?” He asked snapping from contemplation to concern.
“Ready to concede, hero? I think your face will be a suitable perch for me to sit on for a few hours while I read.” She beamed with sadistic glee. “Who knows? Do it right and I might even let you stick your tongue out.”
The dragon poked further into their realm, roaring and slamming a massive skeletal claw down onto the prone hero Heatstroke's motionless form. That should end it, she decided.
The room went deadly quiet and as still as a graveyard. It remained that way, but the triumphant witch could no longer deny the heat and light rapidly suffusing the ruined building. The dragon roared again but now sounded pained and distressed. Only a last second barrier protected Demise as a massive skeletal arm flew across the room and crashed into the dragon's skull, knocking it backwards through the rift, which promptly closed after its traveler returned. And there, standing again as the purple clouds dissipated, was Heatstroke, grinning wildly, broad chest rising and falling as if each breath with a blessing he did not take for granted. His costume, now torn in a half dozen places, revealed a wound on his chest that bled down his torso.
“Oh, fuck you!” Demise stomped and her short, voluptuous figure jiggled in response. “How hard is it to just stay down when you're beaten, huh? Who are you trying to impress?” She adjusted her glasses and pulled her hair from in front of her face.
“There's this witch I know...” He gasped, strength slowly returning. Demise might be more clothed, but she was crucially aware of her dwindling mana reserves. “And that witch gets hot and bothered every time I turn up the heat!” He ran a heavy brown hand over his close-cropped fade and smiled like a predator. His close crop of curly hair reignited and danced with all the colors of a fire as he charged at her.
Demise redoubled her efforts, but he'd seemed to have caught her timing, dispelling her newest spells with brute force and glowing hands. She flitted and floated around the room, growing more desperate each time a black orb only glanced off his sturdy shoulder or muscular thigh. She hesitated for a moment to take stock of her precious mana, the fuel for each spell she cast. Then she felt the wall of the room graze her back. Her eyes went wide as Heatstroke shouldered through a hastily constructed wall of shadow and finally stood within arm's reach of her. She gasped, but even that was a spell. A cloak of shadows covered her hand, and the appendage became a claw that she used to slash at him, a desperate attempt to keep this boisterous hothead from overpowering her.
Heatstroke put his years of hand-to-hand combat training to use and blocked her arm with his, quickly pinning the shorter woman's wrist above her head. They locked eyes and he watched the grim realization wash over her as he applied just enough solar power to forcibly dispel her final spell.
Her soft, jiggling chest rose and fell with nervous breaths as the grinning hero loomed over her. Heatstroke slammed his palm into the wall next to her head, trapping her between the two glowing torches that were his hands. They, and his still-burning head were oppressively hot. “Say it.” He menaced and the witch gulped hard and considered her options.
She struggled against his viselike grip once, then again, before she acquiesced.
“Fuck. Fine. You win.”
The flames on his head lowered, then went out, leaving a trail of smoke pouring off his scalp as he looked at her with bright red eyes and boundless confidence.
“See... is that so hard?” Her breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him, fixing her glasses if only to find a place to put her hand. She could feel his warm breath on her skin; the heat from his face made her blush, among other involuntary reactions.
“Yes!” She admitted. “Losing to you is embarrassing. You're such a...”
“I think this about makes us even, Demi.” He grabbed her by the chin and tilted her head up with a gentleness and care that she hadn't expected from him. Then she closed her eyes while he kissed her. Lightly at first, just the warmth of his lips on hers before pulling away. But the second time had more intentionality, more pressure. She felt his tongue on her lips and moaned, felt him press his body against hers, felt his pressure. His hands stroked her side, from her impressive bust to her soft, thick waist, all the way to her full, plush hips. She might never find the words to explain how nice his touch felt. He kissed her harder and she swooned, grinding her torso into him with growing desire, her thighs rubbing together. They'd done this before, sneaking moments to cavort together in a forbidden romance, but they were seldom so bold about it.
“Someone could see us.” She protested, pulling away.
“I know.” Was all the response he gave as he kissed her again. She wrapped her arms around his back, then wrapped her leg around his thigh a moment later. He was warm and firm and she yearned for more of him. His tongue danced on her lips, teasing her, tasting her, more sensitive than a man like him should be capable of.
And then he pulled away without warning, and without breaking eye contact. She gasped with unmet desire and instantly regretted it, furious at the way her own body had betrayed her. She was a fearsome villain, not some needy damsel yearning for the touch of a hero. She shook her head and realized that she'd lost her hat somewhere and hadn't even noticed.
“See... what I didn't tell the kids, what I can't tell then, is that I sent them on the escort mission so no one would see me fuck you as hard and fast as you can handle.” Heatstroke whispered.
His latest promise woke her from her woozy stupor. He hadn't, couldn't have said what she'd thought she'd heard. She mouthed a question, but his eyes glowed with focus and intent. She didn't have a retort to his declaration. “Wh-what did you say? You can't treat me like...” She complained, confidence drained from her voice. He kissed her again, broad hand tracing the curve of her torso through an enchanted dress. Her fingers were as strong and as firm as the rest of him and she swooned, her thighs squeezing together in a losing effort to fight the arousal she felt for this deeply annoying man. Against all odds this incorrigible hero had become her most consistent and enjoyable lover. She finally gave in, touching him, his skin, his face with unbridled lust, kissing him back with enthusiastic desire. When she came up for air, she wished she hadn't; all she wanted was more.
“Close the curtains... unless you want someone to see...” He teased, running his now merely warm hand through her hair. She wiggled her hips instinctively, snuggling up closer to him. Her attraction to this man was as annoying as it was profound. A simple spell wreathed her hand in shadow, and it became a claw larger than her head. She raised the new, lethal appendage and stopped kissing him long enough to press its palm, her palm, against his face.
“Sh-shut up for a second.” She stammered. Demise turned halfway away from him, her thick, soft ass and broad hips still held firmly by the hero's hands. A half turn was all she needed to see every possible entrance and cast another spell with a wave of her free hand. Plates of dark magic, ghastly and opaque, covered the hole in the wall and the stairwell on the other side of the room. There was no way out. More importantly, there was no way in.
The swooning caster dismissed her spell and her hand was her hand again, still pressed against his mouth. Heatstroke's expression suggested something less than fear. Annoyance? She was happy to let him feel it for a change. Heatstroke's hands tugged at the hem of her dress, pulling its thigh slit up until the menacing spellcaster felt his warm palm on her bare thigh. His warm fingers sunk into her thick thighs, and she melted into him. Demise pulled his head down to kiss him harder, bucking her hips against him, squishing her impressive chest against him.
“You said you were gonna fuck me as hard and fast as I can handle, right? Let's see if you can keep a promise, hero...” She mumbled between kisses, the pair gasping and moaning as they collapsed into a heap on the floor.
#HotDarkLove #Writing #Fiction #Romance #Superheroes #Magic #Fight
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